lkenberg, or "Castle of the
Clouds." Here we begin to enter the enchanted land. The Rhine sweeps
around the foot of the Drachenfels, while, opposite, the precipitous
rock of Rolandseck, crowned with the castle of the faithful knight,
looks down upon the beautiful island of Nonnenwerth, the white walls of
the convent still gleaming through the trees as they did when the
warrior's weary eyes looked upon them for the last time. I shall never
forget the enthusiasm with which I saw this scene in the bright, warm
sunlight, the rough crags softened in the haze which filled the
atmosphere, and the wild mountains springing up in the midst of
vineyards and crowned with crumbling towers filled with the memories of
a thousand years.

After passing Andernach we saw in the distance the highlands of the
middle Rhine--which rise above Coblentz, guarding the entrance to its
scenery--and the mountains of the Moselle. They parted as we approached;
from the foot shot up the spires of Coblentz, and the battlements of
Ehrenbreitstein, crowning the mountain opposite, grew larger and
broader. The air was slightly hazy, and the clouds seemed laboring among
the distant mountains to raise a storm. As we came opposite the mouth of
the Moselle and under the shadow of the mighty fortress, I gazed up with
awe at its massive walls. Apart from its magnitude and almost
impregnable situation on a perpendicular rock, it is filled with the
recollections of history and hallowed by the voice of poetry. The scene
went past like a panorama, the bridge of boats opened, the city glided
behind us, and we entered the highlands again.

Above Coblentz almost every mountain has a ruin and a legend. One feels
everywhere the spirit of the past, and its stirring recollections come
back upon the mind with irresistible force. I sat upon the deck the
whole afternoon as mountains, towns and castles passed by on either
side, watching them with a feeling of the most enthusiastic enjoyment.
Every place was familiar to me in memory, and they seemed like friends I
had long communed with in spirit and now met face to face. The English
tourists with whom the deck was covered seemed interested too, but in a
different manner. With Murray's Handbook open in their hands, they sat
and read about the very towns and towers they were passing, scarcely
lifting their eyes to the real scenes, except now and then to observe
that it was "very nice."

As we passed Boppart, I sought out the i